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28
Cole
She was starting to ask questions. She was starting to make decisions and act on her own. In most situations that would be a good thing. But in recovery like this, it wasn't. I needed her to still be off balance. I needed her to come to trust me whether she hated me or loved me.
I didn't care if she did either of those. Her emotions weren't of interest to me except in the way they fueled my lusts and fed my hungers and answered my questions about the opiate cure.
There was no way to let such an infraction go. If she started thinking for herself, she would try to leave. She couldn't actually hurt me. Having enough money really does act as a buffer. Even if I was sued, the courts would never find all my accounts or be able to impose a fine that actually hurt me. She'd signed a contract that might not be for acceptable services but between consenting adults, was certainly legal. I should know – I'd had it drawn up by one of the best attorneys in the country. So I couldn't be prosecuted for a crime and jailed.
But my reputation could be ruined. I could be outed for the things I enjoyed and I'd worked long and hard for my privacy.
And she'd disobeyed what I'd told her. Having her come to heel mattered.
There was no need for anything elaborate. I only opted for one guard, unarmed, because I wanted her to have the option to fight. She did, but only token struggles that increased when she realized what I was going to do.
Stripped naked in front of the guard, she was tied again to the frame and this time left for as long as my own impatience to enjoy her pain could stand the wait.
Her fear was justified. When I went back into the cell, I carried with me the same riding crop I'd used on her before.
